


When He Died

by borkybarnes



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers mentioned once, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes as Captain America, Bucky is sad, Clint is mentioned like ONCE, Gen, Happy Reading, Hurt Loki, Hurt/Comfort, James "Rhodey" Rhodes Feels, Loki (Marvel) Feels, Loki is finally king, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter is a good friend, Post-Thor: Ragnarok, Rhodey as Iron Man, Rhodey bucky and Shuri went through too much, Shuri becomes BP, Shuri feels, Shuri is sad, Somebody help these characters i’m hurting them, Tony is very sad, Vaguely continuous, i almost cried writing this, i’m so sad, rhodey is done™️, shuri is extra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-27 09:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14422344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borkybarnes/pseuds/borkybarnes
Summary: Time still ticks by slowly, the water still ebbs and flows, seasons still change. But without you, it feels like the world is ending.I guess I forgot that you were just a man.(Alternatively: Shuri, Bucky, and Rhodey experience devastating losses and learn how to cope with them. Loki can't figure his feelings out, though.)





	1. The Greatest Queen

**Author's Note:**

> I'm honestly so sorry that I wrote this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuri finally figured out if T'Challa was stupid or brave.

T’Challa wasn’t afraid of death. He always claimed that it was a natural end to the life cycle, just another moment that passed. He’d looked death plenty of times in the face and didn’t blink. He was either very brave or very stupid, depending on who was judging.

Maybe he was both. 

–––

Shuri couldn’t remember the exact moment when T’Challa died. Her head was swimming and her vision blackened at the edges, and it seemed that all her memories from those seconds were gone. She could easily recall the aftermath, though, when time seemed to stop. She still heard Nakia’s scream, bloodcurdling and heartbreaking, and the way Okoye speared a faceless agent with such fury that Shuri almost didn’t recognize her was burned in her mind. 

She remembered the moment her legs gave out, and she tumbled onto the ground in a heap. She couldn’t scream. She couldn’t reach for her guns. She couldn’t move. The acute pain in her chest was searing and throbbing, and it felt like there was a void where her heart was supposed to be.

Shuri listened to Okoye’s shouts, watched the general try to reach her, only to be blocked by enemy agents. She saw Peter Parker, Spiderman, attempt to swing by before his web was sliced through by one of Hawkeye’s stray arrows. She felt the land shake. Even the Earth was succumbing to the chaos swirling around her. 

Shuri tried to get up again, pushing herself up with her forearms. A heavy weight forced her back the ground. She twisted her neck, looking up at Red Skull, the very many who wreaked havoc across the city, the one who appeared out of nowhere after touching the Tesseract and vanishing all the way back in 1945. 

A lump formed in her throat. He was the man who waged the war that would kill her brother.

Red Skull sneered down at her, pressing his boot harder into her back as she tried to wiggle away. He kicked her side roughly, and laughed when she grunted in pain. “I expected the Princess of Wakanda to be much more a fighter, but it seems that royalty can be taken down just like the rest of humanity.” He glanced up and smirked again, saying, “I’d love to stay and chat, Your Highness, but I’m afraid something else has caught my eye.”

He walked on her back and over her, headed for something in front of her. Shuri looked up and her heart dropped to her stomach. 

T’Challa. He was going to take the necklace.

“T’Challa!” she yelled, finally staggering to her feet. “T’Challa, get up! Now! Get up!” She hastily gathered her guns, stumbling towards Red Skull. “T’Challa!” 

Red Skull turned and clicked his tongue. In a quick instant, he pulled a gun from his holster and fired a bullet into her calf. Shuri let out a shriek, legs buckling once again. Red Skull was satisfied as he turned away, continuing to T’Challa. 

Shuri’s hand shakily rose. Clumsily, she shot her gauntlets, catching Red Skull’s shoulder with a blast of energy. He grunted, looking at her and sighing. “You really don’t know when to stop.” He approached her, heavy boots thumping against the ground. He was slow, taking his time, drawing out her death. She got to her feet again, swaying and balancing all her weight on her right foot. 

“Perseverance is something I can admire, Princess,” Red Skull said. “But your foolishness is not.”

He pressed his gun to her temple and, before she could even blink, pulled the trigger her.

———

Shuri woke up in darkness with a dim beacon of light not too far off. If she looked hard, she could make out a figure standing in the light, dressed in head-t0-toe black. She moved one leg, then the other, and the first again, as if relearning how to walk.

The figure became clearer and even before she saw the person’s face, it was obvious who it was. 

“T’Challa.” She said her brother’s name with reverence, eyes stinging with unshed tears. Shuri ran into his opened arms, crying into his neck. Taking sharp breaths, she asked, “Am… I dead?”

T’Challa paused for a moment and shook his head, placing a kiss on her forehead, where the bullet entered. “It is not your time yet.”

 

Shuri furrowed her brow and slowly said, “But… he shot me…”

“Yes, but I took your place in the afterlife.” T’Challa smiled and stepped away. The beacon engulfing him made him appear even more regal, and the Black Panther suit he still wore looked like it was made of pure light. He grabbed another hand as a stream of light materialized next to him, revealing their father.

T’Chaka held another hand — Shuri’s grandfather, Azzuri’s. Azzuri held his wife’s hand, and she held Azzuri’s mother’s hand. Her ancestors encircled her, hands joined together. T’Challa led them in a Wakandan chant, calling upon the Orisha’s power of revival.

Shuri’s vision began to spin as her ancestors and relatives released hands. Her father wished her good luck, and her grandfather told her how he wished he could have met her. And T’Challa, her sweet, hilarious brother and best friend, smiled at her and said so softly, “We’ll meet again, Shuri.”

She reached for him as she spiraled downwards. 

———

Shuri laid on the ground, eyes flying open. The sound of intense gunfire and bombs and all sorts of weaponry jogged her memory. Red Skull was walking away from her, as if just having shot her.

Shuri blinked and sprung to her feet, loading her guns. There was no pain in her leg anymore. She let out a sigh of relief and aimed, steadily this time, as Red Skull crouched over T’Challa’s body.

Shuri pulled the trigger, and Red Skull seized up and toppled over. 

It was over. Shuri darted to T’Challa, tossing Red Skull’s dead form off of him. The alien weapon that slaughtered him laid a few feet away, smoking and broken. Shuri touched the dark puddle on his stomach, blood seeping through the costume. She wiped it on her pants carelessly, gently touching her face. His eyes were open, wide and devoid of any emotion. His mouth closed, however, pursed in a thin line. He accepted his fate in the seconds before it came. 

T’Challa really never was scared of death. Shuri laughed quietly, wiping away the tears rolling down her cheeks. In that instance, Shuri made up her mind. T’Challa was a very, very brave man.

———

Shuri sat at her desk in her lab, spinning around aimlessly. Her family held a week-long funeral for T’Challa. Her brother wanted the event to be opened for everybody in Wakanda, to show them that he was just a mortal man, and so they had a proper chance to mourn him. As expected, all of Wakanda arrived to say goodbye to their king. The Avengers came as well, and her mother let them stay in the palace.

Shuri glanced up with a sigh, looking at where she first designed T’Challa’s suit. The necklace hung around the mannequin’s neck, completely unmoving. She hadn’t touched it since his death. 

“Hey,” Peter said as he walked down the stairs. He tripped over his own two feet as he made his way over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “How’re you feeling?”

She stared at her feet. “Better.”

“You can talk to me.”

“I know.”

They stayed silent for a few minutes, and Shuri basked in it. There was something comforting about Peter’s presence and she liked not having to be alone in the quiet. She looked to her brother’s necklace again.

Peter followed her gaze and asked, “Will… will you be the next Black Panther?”

Shuri nodded wordlessly, still staring at it. She knew she would feel dirty for wearing the suit, as if she was substituting for her brother, taking over for him, replacing him. She looked at the necklace again before blurting, “I don’t want to be the Black Panther.”

Peter blinked once and said, “What?”

Shuri gazed at her hands, at the royal ring that was passed through their family, and clenched her fists. “I don’t want to be the Black Panther! I don’t want to be T’Challa! He’s not expendable! He’s—he’s—” She sucked in sharp breaths as tears came to her eyes. She felt an embarrassed flush creep up her neck. She wasn’t going to lose her composure in front of anybody. She would be strong through T’Challa’s death. She promised him. 

“Shuri.” Peter looked straight at her, eyes not darting around like they normally did. “You’re not replacing your brother. You’re not going to be him if you put on the suit. You’ll still be Shuri, the kickass inventor and princess. The suit doesn’t define you.”

Shuri stared back up at Peter, mulling over his words. The suit doesn’t define you. You’re not going to be him if you put on the suit. You’re not replacing your brother. You’re not replacing your brother. You’re not replacing your brother. 

She stood up, legs wobbling and she got deja vu. She carefully crept towards the mannequin as if it would attack her at any moment. She touched the necklace tenderly, running her fingers along the blunt edges of the spikes. Slowly, she unhooked it and held it against her sternum. She glanced up at Peter, who snapped out of a daydream and two thumbs up, nodding rapidly. 

Shuri smiled for the first time since the funeral rites began and clasped the necklace around her neck.


	2. ‘Till the End of the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They promised to always be together.
> 
> Bucky wasn't sure if he'd survive without Steve.

Steve was dead.

Bucky was numb. He didn’t know if it was the heartache or alcohol talking, forgetting for the slightest second that he couldn’t get drunk. “Damn serum,” he hissed, clenching the shot glass too hard and breaking it with his human hand. He shook off the glass shards lingering on his hand and paid the bartender twenty dollars, leaving with a quiet “Keep the change.”

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, trying to ward off the cold. It was mid-December, with Christmas time around the corner. He smirked. Steve loved Christmas. Back in the ‘40s, their families would spend the holidays together. Their mothers would be cooking in the kitchen, their dads playing cards in the living room, and Bucky, Steve, and Bucky’s siblings would be running around the house. 

Bucky jumped when a car honked, swerving to avoid him. The driver cursed, muttering something about “pedestrian assholes.” Bucky couldn’t be bothered to remember the exact words as he walked into the church. 

Tony turned around when Bucky entered, walking to him and, to Bucky’s surprise, hugged him tight. “Hey, Frosty,” Tony whispered, releasing him and patting his arms. 

“James.” Natasha placed a hand on his shoulder. “How’re you holding up?”

“Surviving,” Bucky said. He glanced at the coffin and gulped. “Opened casket?”

“We decided it was best way to give closure,” Tony said. He sniffed the air, leaning towards Bucky. “Day drinking, Barnes?”

“Don’t talk, Stark,” he said, any warmth that he felt for Tony gone in that instant. Tony frowned, stared at Bucky for a second, and walked off to Rhodey. 

Natasha hugged Bucky quickly and said, “Go say goodbye to him.”

Bucky didn’t know if he had the strength to even look at Steve’s body. He inched forward, to where the casket was, bracing himself for the sight. He touched the edge of the casket, sliding his fingers on the smooth wood. He admired the pictures Steve would buried with –– ones from the 1940s and from modern day –– and the flowers that lined the edge of the coffin. Carnations and chrysanthemums. Steve always loved those.

It was at that moment that Bucky realized that he was looking everywhere but Steve. His heart pounded in his chest as forced himself to look at Steve. 

He looked perfect. Completely and utterly perfect.

“Hey, punk,” he whispered, kneeling at the casket. The flower petals tickled him as he leaned his forehead against the wood. “This’s the same chapel Peggy’s wake was. You told me that you wanted to be held in the same place. Well, here you go.”

Steve didn’t respond, and Bucky felt disappointed. He knew he shouldn’t have. 

Steve was gone.

And honestly, a part of Bucky died with him.

–––

“James, you’re up,” Natasha said as she sat back down. Bucky pulled out a folded piece of paper as he approached the podium, a knot settled in his throat.

Captain America’s wake was public, opened to anybody who wanted to come. Cameras were flashing, reporters were hounding the Avengers on how they felt, all of New York –– hell, all of the United States –– came. 

The private funeral was so much scarier.

Bucky’s hands shook. He opened his mouth multiple times, no words coming out. Tony watched him expectantly, and Natasha looked concerned. Then, Bucky made a mistake. He glanced at Steve’s body.

For the first time in a while, Bucky began to cry. Natasha flew up from her seat, throwing her arms around him, cooing soft words in Russian. Sam followed, hugging Bucky with one arm. Wanda and Vision joined the hug. 

Bucky could barely catch his breath, stifling his sobs. Natasha sighed, stroking Bucky’s hair and whispering Russian pet names. A few moments passed, and Bucky stopped sniffling. Natasha pecked his cheek, walking back to her pew with the others in tandem. 

Bucky took a deep breath as if relearning how to breathe. “Steve,” he shakily began, “is… was the best man to ever walk this Earth. He was kind, brave, powerful. Perfect. He was perfect.”

–––

“Buck! Get down!” Steve yelled as a HYDRA agent threw a bomb. It clinked on the ground, detonating moments later. Bucky and Steve hid behind a heavy metal crate, the acrid smell of burning bodies reaching them.

“Are you guys alright?” Natasha asked over commlinks, the sound of screaming in the background. 

“We’re fine.” Steve looked at Bucky and said, “Change of plans.” He winced as a bullet hit their crate. “I’m going to direct their fire at me. You need to take them out from behind me.”

Bucky nodded, cocking his rifle. Steve peered around the corner of the crate before launching himself into the crossfire. Bullets sparked as they hit the vibranium, ricocheting in every direction. Bucky aimed, shooting three HYDRA agents.

The newest HYDRA leader stared at him, shouting for the agents to grab him. They were instructed to take Bucky back, alive but he didn’t have to be in good condition. Steve glanced back, brow furrowing as he deflected another bullet. His eyes flickered above Bucky and then, they widened. Bucky turned to Steve. “What?”

Everything went in slow motion from then. Steve sprinting towards Bucky, dropping his shield in the process. Steve leaping in front of him, grunting as a sniper’s bullet pierced him. Steve falling onto the ground, and Bucky kneeling at his side. 

Steve laughed before coughing up blood. “Hey, Buck.” He waited a beat and grinned, teeth stained a dark crimson. “I can do this all day.”

When the light faded from his eyes and his body went limp, Bucky stopped breathing. All he saw was pure, vivid red.

He directed his attention up. The sniper died first.

–––

“He was an amazing soldier, an amazing leader, and above all, an amazing best friend.” Bucky rubbed his hand down his face, taking another deep breath. “It’s going to be hard living without him.”

Bucky finished, barely able to hold himself together. He walked down the steps and, instead of returning to his pew, went straight out the door. He couldn’t do this –– stay in a place where Steve was dead. 

He hailed a cab before Natasha could stop him, telling the driver his address. As the taxi pulled away from the curb, he saw Tony stop next to Natasha. The look of disappointment on their faces made Bucky turn away from the window.

The ride was quiet and much slower than Bucky anticipated. The driver kept glancing back at him in the rear view mirror. “So,” the driver said, “you’re the Winter Soldier?”

Bucky forgot how televised the Avengers were. “Oh, yeah, I guess.”

“Heard Captain America died. How ya holdin’ up?”

“Fine.” 

Bucky was so thankful when the cab stopped. He paid the driver and got out, unlocking the door to his apartment complex and walking up five flights of stairs. He opened his apartment door and walked in, tossing his keys into the bowl by the door.

It was dark and cold. Bucky wasn’t sure if it was because the curtains were drawn and the windows opened, or if it was because the world robbed him of his sun.

He sat on his couch, flopping back and groaning. This was the worst pain he ever felt. He could hardly move, staring at the ceiling. He wanted to call Steve, wanted to tell him how he felt. Steve would know how to handle it. Steve would be calm and collected and perfect. But Steve was gone. They were burying his six-feet-under in a few minutes. 

He laid down on the couch, falling into a dreamless sleep. He didn’t know how long he slept when he woke up to a pounding at his door. Blearily, he blinked and sat up. “James, it’s Natasha. Open up.” When he didn’t respond, Natasha knocked hard. “James Bucky Barnes. Now.” Bucky remained silent, which was a mistake. Natasha kicked the door down, expression stern.

“What time is it?”

Natasha checked her watch and said, “Eight o’clock.”

Shit. Bucky slept for four hours. He looked up at Natasha, who said, “Lawyer came by and read the will while we went out to dinner. He left you his journals and sketchbook.” She pulled out the objects from her bag and tossed them at him. She looked out the doorway and said, “He also had a very specific instruction for you.”

Sam appeared, carrying Steve’s shield. He threw it and Bucky caught it easily with his metal hand. Natasha continued, “He wants you to be the new Captain America.”

Bucky paused and then asked, “Excuse me?”

Natasha repeated the sentence and Bucky said, “No.”

“No?” echoed Sam. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’m not going the be Captain America.” There were too many painful memories associated with the moniker. Steve was Captain America. When Steve died, so did Cap.

Natasha glared at him, saying, “James, stop being stubborn.”

“Natasha, it’s my choice if I want to take on Captain America.”

“The world needs Captain America!”

“He’s dead, if you haven’t noticed. I watched him die. He died for me. Captain America is gone.”

“Steve would have wanted it!” Natasha threw her hands up in frustration.

Bucky scowled, snarling, “Well, he’s not here now, is he?” 

The room went silent instantly. Bucky balled his hands up, listening to the whirring of his metal fingers. “Leave,” he said. “Now.”

“Fine.” Natasha grabbed Sam’s hand. “Let’s go then.”

Bucky gathered his things, stomped into his room, and slammed and locked the door. He dumped the journals and sketchbook onto his desk, throwing the shield onto his bed. Pacing around, he pulled at his hair and grit his teeth. Natasha had no right to tell him how to live his life. She had no right to tell him to be Captain America. 

Bucky glanced at the shield and sat on the bed. He ran his fingers down the scratch inflicted by T’Challa’s claws. Steve had the shield for so long. Steve held it with pride, and he and the shield became symbols of hope.

Bucky wondered what was going to happen with that symbol gone.

Hesitantly, he took the shield and slid the straps onto his forearm. He turned slowly, looking at himself in the mirror. He swore he could see the vague outline of Steve. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he checked the text. To his surprise, Tony’s name flashed on screen with the words: The world needs hope.

Bucky looked back at the mirror and smirked. 

Tony and Natasha were right –– the world needed hope.

–––

“We are positioned over the HYDRA base,” FRIDAY’s voice came over the jet’s speakers. “Opening hatch. Good luck, Avengers.”

When the hatch opened, Tony looked at Bucky. “Ready, Captain?”

“Always,” Bucky said. Tony dove out of the plane, diving down. Natasha followed, patting Bucky on the way out. Sam smacked Bucky’s shoulders, leaping down. Bucky reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded photo of a grinning Steve. 

Bucky smiled and muttered, “‘Till the end of the line, buddy.”

He slipped it back in his pocket and jumped out.


	3. Farewell, Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey shouldn't have left Tony.

Shuri as Black Panther and Bucky as Captain America was the most jarring thing Rhodey had seen, up until Tony was shot down from the sky. In their comms, Rhodey listened to Tony’s litany of cursing with dread settled in his stomach. He was tied down on the ground, fighting of HYDRA agents left and right, and Vision and Sam were trying to outfly the fighter jet that took down Tony.

Tony groaned as Rhodey successfully took out a HYDRA agent. “Shit,” Tony said, hissing as he spoke. “FRIDAY, check damages.”

Rhodey didn’t hear FRIDAY’s response, but from Tony’s shout of pain, it wasn’t good. “I’m on my––” Rhodey kicked another agent away, powering up his suit, “––way, Tony. Hang in there.”

Rhodey flew over the HYDRA base, dodging the bullets flying from assault rifles and other various firearms. He spotted Iron Man’s suit by the edge of the cliff, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, the arc reactor blinking rapidly. Rhodey flew down, landing next to Tony. Half of the suit’s mask was cracked, revealing Tony’s bloodied face, and chunks of the armor were missing. 

Rhodey’s blood ran cold when he saw a red piece of the suit lodged in Tony’s stomach, a large red stain on around the wound. “Shit.” Rhodey nudged the piece gently, watching half of Tony’s face contort in pain. 

“Jeez, Rhodes,” he laughed, jaw clenched. “Trying to kill me faster?”

“Shut up. You’re going to live.” He addressed the Avengers as a whole, asking, “Can anybody come? Tony needs emergency medical attention, stat.”

There was a large explosion at the base, and Rhodey could see bodies flying. With a heavy grunt, Bucky was the first to respond, “Oh, fuck. Nat’s down!”

“So’s Tony,” Rhodey said.

Shuri piped up, “HYDRA’s pulling out their best moves today.”

“Must’ve heard the team is missing two of our best,” said Bucky. “Can anybody get to Nat or Tony?”

Beside him, Tony moaned and said, “FRIDAY, turn off comms.” He looked at Rhodey and said, “Turn yours off too.”

Rhodey followed the order and Tony said, “You need to let me die.”

“What? Are you kidding me, Stark?”

“No.” He looked at Rhodey and said, “Nobody’s coming in time. I’m hurting too much. Anyways, there are others who need more help.”

“Tony, stop talking like that.” Rhodey examined him again, looking around the frost covered land for anything that could help. He muttered to himself, “Have to leave the shard in to make sure he doesn’t bleed out… shit, shit, shit.”

“James Rhodes, take it out now.” Rhodey jolted at Tony’s stern tone, glaring at Tony. Tony met his eyes, steady. “I’m serious, Rhodey. Now. Let me die.”

“Tony, think of what you’re asking me to do! I’m not going to let you get killed!”

Tony paused and nodded. “You’re right. It’s not fair. FRIDAY, please set War Machine’s coordinates to Natasha Romanoff’s position.”

“What? No! Tony.” Rhodey’s face grew ashen and he desperately pled, “Please, don’t. Tony! Stop!” He was in the air before he knew it, helpless. FRIDAY didn’t let him turn around, even when Rhodey physically tilted his body and craned his neck to look back. 

He saw it clear as day –– Tony pulling the broken piece of metal out of his abdomen, staining the snow around him red. Rhodey felt like he was going to throw up. 

When he landed next to Natasha, who was pressing a ripped piece of cloth to a bullet hole in her shoulder and firing her pistol, he attempted to get back to Tony. HYDRA agents blocked his exit, aiming tanks and rifles at him. 

Rhodey tried to fight through them, to reach Tony, but the waves of agents kept coming. 

He watched the agents, narrowing his eyes. He was going to win for Tony. “Alright, you bastards,” he said, lip curling up in a snarl. “You want a fight? You’ve got a fight.”

–––

Shuri and Bucky were sitting at the bar in the Avengers Complex, Bucky nursing a beer and Shuri a virgin mango daiquiri. Rhodey found them there and Shuri kicked a barstool out. “Sit down.”

Rhodey obeyed, rubbing his face. Planning Tony’s funeral was hectic and consoling Pepper, Happy, and Peter was futile. Rhodey was tired and emotionally drained, and it showed. He’d looked at himself in the mirror earlier, and he couldn’t recognize himself –– five o’clock shadow, bloodshot eyes, chapped lips. 

“What is it?” 

Bucky poured Rhodey a gin and tonic and said, “We heard you were taking over Iron Man’s position.”

Rhodey paused and nodded, quiet. Shuri said, “We just wanted to know if you wanted to talk to us. We went through the same thing.”

Rhodey let out a long breath. “I’m just so… exhausted. I feel like it’s a struggle to get up in the mornings. Everyday, I know I have to face the day without…” Rhodey sighed. “My best friend.”

“We understand,” said Bucky, patting his shoulder. Rhodey, only in that moment, realized that Bucky Barnes, the caveman (according to Tony), cut his hair. He looked more like 1940s Bucky than 2014’s version. Bucky smiled wryly. “Drink up, my friend. It takes the edge off a bit.”

Shuri laughed softly. “That pain doesn’t go away anytime soon. A month after T’Challa’s death, and it still hurts so much.”

“Agreed,” Bucky said, lifting a glass in a toast. “To our broken hearts. May they be sewn back together eventually.”

“Cheers.” They clinked glasses, silence settling over them. 

That silence. Rhodey smiled slightly. That silence was nice.


	4. To Be King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki has a lot a regrets. 
> 
> Letting his brother die is one of them.

Loki couldn’t believe how terribly cruel the world was. Thor had been stripped of his long hair, an eye, his hammer, his lover, his father, his realm, and now his life. 

Loki could only hope that the afterlife was kinder to his brother.

The battle against Jormungandr was going well enough. Well, until Thor decided to be the self-sacrificing moron that he was.

Loki should have been paying better attention. Thor shouldn’t have been as selfless as he always was. Maybe both of those factors would have saved Thor’s life.

Loki’s magic was growing weaker as he took another lash from the serpent’s tail. Jormungandr was stronger –– much stronger –– than he or the Avengers had anticipated. 

Yes, the Avengers joined in on the fight. Loki nearly laughed when they suggested it, telling them that mortals couldn’t defeat such a monster. They should have listened to him.

A lot of things should have happened that didn’t.

Loki staggered to his feet, prepared to try and construct a cord of pure magic and bind the creature. He didn’t expect the process to take so long, however, silently praying for the magic to build faster. 

Jormungandr slithered towards him at alarming rates, Romanoff, Barnes, and Wilson jumping out of the way before they were flattened. Loki felt sweat on his brow as he squeeze the remaining parts of his energy into making the magic grow faster. 

“Brother!” Thor hollered, two swords in hand. He charged for the monster, even as Loki yelled for him not to. Thor leapt, ready to slice the serpent in half with one sweeping movement. 

But the monster was too quick, striking fast. It darted to one side, avoiding Thor completely, before wrapping the demigod in a tight coil. The veins in Thor’s neck bulged and he struggled in Jormungandr’s grip.

The serpent could wrap itself around the entire world. There was no plausible scenario in which Thor would escape. Loki knew that, even though he wouldn’t bring himself to admit it.

A very foolish part of him, even as Thor coughed and went red in the face, thought Thor could win.

His brother locked eyes with him, nodding weakly at Loki’s finished cord. Loki whipped it, catching Jormungandr around the neck and casting an enchantment. 

He could save Thor. He needed more time.

Thor’s face became purple as he freed a hand, stabbing the serpent with one sword and a surprising amount of strength. Jormungandr hissed, squeezing Thor even tighter.

Time. Oh god, all Loki needed was time.

Thor went limp in Jormungandr’s coil. And just like that, Loki ran out of time.

He shouldn’t have been so surprised. 

Fate was very cruel to Thor.

–––

No Asgardian would have believed Loki if the Avengers hadn’t vouched on his behalf. Thor Odinson, the King of Asgard, was dead, killed defending the brother who was so horrible to him for countless millennia.

The Asgardians mourned. With the Avengers’ help, they held a proper funeral. At the top of Niagara Falls, the best warriors of Asgard held the casket. Thor clutched his swords tightly, laid on a bed of juniper flowers. 

Loki told them, “Release it.”

The casket flew down the waterfall, barely skimming the water. Loki crept a watchful eye, fearful to slip up. This funeral had to be as good as Thor was. 

As the casket was around the bottom of the falls, Loki flicked his fingers and it went soaring. Archers sent fiery arrows spinning towards the casket, lighting it. In the night sky, it cast a soft glow. With a turn of the wrist, the casket plummeted down, and it was over.

Thor was gone.

–––

Midgardian ale was tasteless and didn’t do anything for Loki. According to Bucky Barnes and James Rhodes, it was a custom of Stark to drink off pain. Honestly, Loki didn’t think any amount of alcohol would fill the gaping hole in his chest.

Thor. Thor with his dumb hair and charms. Thor and his big grin. Thor and his self-sacrificing tendency. Loki didn’t realize that he would miss him so greatly. When they were younger, Loki dreamed of a Thor-less world.

Now that he had it, it was a never-ending nightmare, and he was ready to wake up.

Loki stood in front of all the Asgardian citizens as their newly coronated king. They clapped politely, smiled politely, congratulated him politely. But he knew, of course. He wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t their true king. Thor was. He was just a mediocre replacement, trailing in Thor’s shadow once again even though Thor was dead.

The crown on Loki’s head felt light and meaningless and he couldn’t help but think that it should have been on, and remained, on Thor’s head.

Shuri, the late King of Wakanda’s younger sister and the new leader of Wakanda, walked up to him after the ceremony. “How does it feel?” she asked.

Loki scoffed and said, “You know how it feels.”

“Everybody has different reactions and emotions,” she said. “My feelings aren’t the same as yours.”

Loki frowned but thought on that for a moment. This girl was smart, formidable –– fit to lead a great nation such as Wakanda. He blurted, “Hollow.”

Shuri echoed his word and nodded. She smiled at him and said, “Good luck, Your Highness.” And she walked away, leaving Loki pensive.

He said the first word that came to mind. Hollow. The crown felt hollow. Kingship felt hollow. His heart felt hollow.

Hollow. He smirked sadly. There was so much meaning in six letters.

Hollow.


End file.
